Inertia Exchange
by shrieking minties 51
Summary: Hidan does not introspect, he dreams. If he should be confronted with an epiphany, it shall not be within waking hours. - Deathfic, decidedly anti-religious. Slight KakuHida.


_Inertia- __A property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force_

They have been walking for days again. Soundless, trackless footsteps and a cool, dry autumn air whips around his head. The kind of autumn air laden with energy and crisp excitement and, if one thinks upon it much, potentialities.

Hidan does not think upon anything overmuch, besides how the wind will crack his lips and agitate his skin. The landscape facing the onslaught of wind is... coldly beautiful. Shades of autumn litter the rocky path, contrasting the mountains in the distance. Gargantuan shadows, but shadows nevertheless. The mountains, Hidan wholly believes, are nothing in the eyes of God. The landscape ephemeral in the scheme of Time. Beside them, he is aware that a river runs; but it makes no sound.

Steadier than the steps ahead of his is the only sound that reaches him- the clink of coins being counted in pairs.

He starts and blocks his ears when he understands the sound's likeness to a single, lonesome heartbeat.

Kakuzu's gaze flickers in the direction of his distress, but his steps remain steady. Steady and yet wispy; unearthly, for Kakuzu does not _live_ but _exist_ and plough steadily forward (to nowhere, to nowhere at _all_!) with little purpose beyond his books and his precious money.

The stifling pace his partner greets with something almost like cheer (only not so attached) makes Hidan's skin crawl. A kind of inertia his Jashin would condemn to the last. There is no destruction, not even creation as he walks. Only the motion itself- unaffected, and unrelenting.

"You could give it to Lord Jashin." Hidan mentions, in a manner that is meant to be offhanded, "Give Him your power. What else would you be using it for?" he queries. (Kakuzu does not _live_, but _exist_).

He receives no immediate response. Only the slightest pause in the patter of coins and feet. A skip in the heartbeat.

Experimentally, desperately, he staggers forward, ahead of his partner, with a deliberate, delicious brush of their hands. Delicious not in the contact; rather, in the thrill- Kakuzu does not take kindly to being touched, and the potential for a violent reaction is far more enticing than the skin itself. He shivers, for he has been repaired by those hands many times, and killed by them an even greater number, shredded by raw and powerful fury. Destroyed and rebuilt by the infinite potential that the man carries. Carries, and squanders for money.

Much to his frustration, Kakuzu continues to walk as though there has been no contact at all.

"I am old." comes the eventual reply, and Hidan falls still as the man shudders mechanically past "You forget. I have given my body to higher purpose before. What should I care for, once that has been fufilled?"

He realises quite suddenly the mistake he had made about Kakuzu. The man is not stubborn, but tired. Made immutable by the sheer force of Time. God, he realises, is finished with all men who choose to live beyond their years. A man ought only to live as long as his purpose is still in plain sight. Beyond this, they have nothing to offer Him but time.

The wind picks up around them, to a velocity like he has never seen. It seems determined to change the shape of the landscape before their very eyes. He has to cling to his cloak to keep it from moving too much in the onslaught; white, red, and black ripples across him (the bruises and the blood across his skin. Feverish screaming, blessedly and cursedly still alive. Kakuzu watches with his bright, cold eyes for no reason in particular, and decides Hidan does not require his assistance. Prefers that Hidan dies, this time- their relationship is irrevocably complicated, and based almost entirely on Kakuzu's whims).

"And what now?" Hidan half-pleads over the gale.

A great tremor in the earth shakes him to the ground as the wind finally achieves its goal- trees and mountains shatter, rivers become rain as the scenery falls around them completely. Nothing remains but a rickety trail forward into nothingness.

Kakuzu chuckles, deep in his throat, and meanders on in silence. (To nowhere, nowhere at _all_).

* * *

><p>He does not think upon the dream overmuch when he awakens, face half-contorted in another muffled scream, a crushing weight on his chest and within, and nothing whatsoever to look forward to. It should have made great sense, but Hidan does not introspect. It's not in his nature, and there is never a worse time to consider one's folly when the mistakes have already been paid for.<p>

Hidan does not introspect; he speaks and he acts. He screams and pushes and makes himself, and his God, known wherever they may walk.

He does not need to think upon his religion, because he lives his religion. Spreads the Word as an automatic process.

But, now, there is dirt in his mouth, and it feels stitched quite as tightly as Kakuzu's.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Experimental piece (which, apprently, are always KakuHida related in my world) thrown together over a few exhausted nights, torn down, and rewritten again because I am an insecure bastard. Strong possibility there will be a part two, regarding Shikamaru.**

** Critique would be very much appreciated. **


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